“Forgive me, Miss Marston, I was momentarily distracted. You were saying?”
As he spoke, she looked upon him, from his thick, dark brown hair to his highly polished hessian boots, stopping at certain intervals along her downward path, as she tried to imagine what lay beneath his impeccably tailored clothes.
The limited social life of her country province, where she had been highly admired, was a far cry from that of the sophisticated, elite society of London. However, she was determined to make her mark. She especially enjoyed the attentions of all the young gentlemen who expressed their delight upon meeting her—her only regret being that she must eventually settle on only one. But as her gaze continued to appraise the attributes of the gentleman by her side, she had no cause to complain.
What a prize he would make!
Over the course of the last five years, Fitzwilliam Darcy had proved himself worthy of his inherited title and was indeed looked upon by the women of society as a prize to be won. All of London had waited to see if the new Master of Pemberley would be successful in restoring the once thriving estate to its former glory, or if he would succumb to the costly vices and proclivities that lured so many young men and separated them from their newly inherited fortunes.
The very fact that he had a fortune to squander had made him a target for every kind of deception and temptation, and he had not been without his curiosities.
He had quickly discovered that games of chance were not to his liking. He could not understand why a gentleman who already possessed great wealth would risk wagering a portion of it on a hand of cards or a toss of the dice.
Precarious and shady business propositions had been dangled in front of him, but he soon learned to invest only in those ventures in which he had a working knowledge and interest, such as cultivating the land. His investments centered on those endeavours that would advance agricultural development, for he had a love and respect of the land just as George Darcy had.
A vast panoply of temptations had been offered from the denizens of smoke-filled private clubs where nefarious gentlemen supplied substances that were touted to stimulate his mind, while those enticements offered by the ladies had been of a more carnal nature. He would admit to appeasing his curiosity on several occasions, but it had been years since his young inquisitiveness had been piqued and sated.
With all his ‘indiscretions of youth’ now in his past, his social life had settled into a routine of escorting perfectly bred young ladies to perfectly proper social functions, today being a perfect example. He imagined he would, in good time, marry one of these perfect young ladies and live a seemingly perfect existence, a perfect existence uncomplicated by love.
It was not that he was opposed to love, for he was sure that there were circumstances where love survived beyond the inevitable diminishing of physical attraction, but that kind of love was rare. Indeed, his cynicism had increased steadily over the years as he witnessed his peers profess love for their wives and then take mistresses as soon as the first bloom had faded. And the women had proved to be no better, as he had been approached by more than a few bored society wives who indicated their willingness to form secret alliances.
Having experienced what passed for love in the polite, sophisticated social circle in which he lived, he decided it was not a requirement for his happiness and branded it just another one of the dubious propositions in which he was unwilling to invest.
In his seven and twenty years he had managed to avoid even the slightest hint of romantic love, and he had no cause to repine. In fact, he had not encountered even one young lady for whom he might be willing to take such a risk with his heart.
Of course he had witnessed the devotion that his beloved parents had shared, but even that did not make his opinion any less critical on the subject. For what good had love done his father when his mother had become so irrevocably ill? All the love in the world had not been able to save her. And Lady Anne’s death had brought the onset of George Darcy’s as well. It was as if they both had died that day. For even though his father continued to draw breath for many more years, his spirit and will to live had long ceased.
At the tender age of sixteen, Fitzwilliam Darcy had made up his mind about love. After watching his father’s long-suffering demise, he was determined never to let his heart feel that much for any woman.
As far as he was concerned, love was a painful and unrewarding experience in every possible way. And life was much too short to waste one’s time on something that had no redeeming value. Yes, he could well be content to live his life free from the emotional turmoil of love.
He forced his concentration back to Miss Marston who was now relating the gossip that was sure to result from the fracas that had erupted last evening at Miss Fiona Redley’s coming out ball. Indeed, the young woman on his arm seemed determined to relate the entire incident and left out not even the smallest of details.
Their newly emerging relationship had begun only a few months prior as they both had attended a dinner party of a mutual acquaintance. She was somewhat of a mystery, which perhaps added to her appeal.
She was from the small town of Cornhill in Northumberland and had arrived in London to assist her recently widowed aunt while attorneys sorted out the affairs of her late uncle’s estate, a gentleman of some nobility, if one took stock in rumours. Her aunt he had met only once as she was quite frail and was usually resting or had retired for the evening when he called.
The elderly woman’s butler, a gentleman by the name of Stivers, obviously had been in her employ for many, many years; as his memory, his hearing, and even his eyesight were all quite deficient. When Darcy called at the townhouse, he usually had to resort to pounding his fist upon the door in order for Stivers to hear, and the man failed to recognize him each and every time.
Miss Marston took to London society like a duck to water, and it seemed the ton had taken an instant liking to her as well, for there was nothing that they esteemed more than beauty and breeding, and he could not refute that her striking good-looks had caught his eye. He had called upon her regularly since their introduction and could find no fault in her comportment.
She seemed receptive to his attentions and on several occasions had purposely fashioned circumstances that allowed them to indulge in some intimacy. A number of liberties had been accorded, and he had not refused them. He found her boldness surprising but did not consider this a fault, as his ego presumed this access to her charms was reserved for him alone.
And while he found her charms pleasurable, he could not say that she had engaged his emotions, a fact that seemed to be of no consequence. He had not professed love, and she did not seem to require it, which only confirmed Darcy’s opinion that they were well suited.
As to his and Miss Marston’s conversations, on each occasion they had talked of the weather in great detail, the possibility of rain apparently being of utmost concern to the young lady. Fashion seemed to be another of Miss Marston’s anxieties as she fretted over the newest trend of shorter sleeves and the new season’s scandalous lack of lace.
His attentions upon her had been duly noted by the ton, and it was assumed by all that he would soon make her an offer, a prospect which he did not find intolerable. After all, he must marry someone as he was so often reminded by his family, and Miss Marston was a more likely candidate than most. Had not everyone he met declared them a most handsome couple?
But perhaps his imminent departure to Hertfordshire was timely; for as much as he found Miss Marston’s demeanor agreeable and her looks quite attractive, he must admit a short diversion to the country and the prospect of seeking more intelligent and stimulating topics of conversation was enticing.
She expressed her regret that business must take him away but assured him she would be waiting eagerly for his return.
He felt only a twinge of guilt as he silently acknowledged that despite his regard for her, he was bored, perfectly bored.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mr. Bennet
descended the carriage. He pasted a look of amiability on his face, despite the fact that he wished to be anywhere but where he was—welcoming someone new to the neighborhood. Even though he had vexed his wife with his reluctance over the last several days, he knew she was right. He must do his fatherly duty and introduce himself so that his daughters might benefit from the acquaintance.
There seemed to be some confusion as he was led inside, the young woman unsure exactly what was expected of her.
Mr. Bingley quickly appeared in the foyer. “Oh, I’m glad to see someone has let you in. Things are still a bit unsettled here as I’ve yet to hire a housekeeper. Good morning. I am Charles Bingley.”
“Thomas Bennet of Longbourn. I have come to welcome you to the neighbourhood.”
“How very good of you, sir. Please come into the parlour and make yourself comfortable.”
Once they were seated, tea was ordered. “I prefer a little brandy in mine if you do not object,” said Mr. Bennet as he carefully observed his host.
“No objections whatsoever,” beamed the hospitable Mr. Bingley. “I might be persuaded to join you myself.”
Mr. Bennet assessed the young man seated beside him. He judged him to be all that was congenial. Yes, he would be a welcome addition to the neighborhood.
“Have you met many of your neighbours?”
“Several. A Sir William Lucas called upon me yesterday. Quite a friendly chap. He informed me of his two daughters . . . ah, oh yes, a Miss Charlotte and a Miss Maria.”
“Yes, I would imagine that most of the families you’ve met are those blessed with an abundance of daughters,” said an amused Mr. Bennet.
“And you, sir, have you any daughters, Mr. Bennet?”
“Five.”
“Five daughters?” responded Bingley as his eyebrows shot up a good two inches.
“Yes. And my wife is very eager for you to meet all of them,” he said, unable to hide his enjoyment of teasing the young man. “I understand you will be attending the Meryton Assembly on Saturday.”
“Yes. Sir William was kind enough to invite me.”
Their conversation was interrupted as a young servant girl entered the parlour with the tea. Normally her duties did not extend past the kitchen, and she looked around the room seemingly at a loss.
“Just place it over here, Maggie. Then you may go.”
The young girl curtsied, and the teacups slid precariously across the tray before she righted herself. Steadying the tray, she hurriedly crossed the room and placed the refreshments on the table. Again she bobbed a curtsey and quickly disappeared.
“As I said, things are still a bit unsettled. My sister Caroline will get the staff situation straightened out when she arrives tomorrow with the rest of my party. We shall all attend the Assembly on Saturday. Even though I am sure my friend, Mr. Darcy, will argue against it.”
Mr. Bennet responded to the name. “Mr. Darcy? Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?”
“Why yes, are you acquainted with him?” asked Bingley as he poured a generous dollop of brandy into each teacup.
“No, I am not, but if it is the same gentleman, I believe two of my daughters met him some years ago.”
“Excellent! Perhaps that is just the inducement I shall need to persuade him to attend!”
********
As Lizzy joined her family in the parlour, there was a great discussion in progress. Not wishing to enter into the fray, she steadfastly made her way towards the settee and picked up her embroidery. Her mother was bemoaning the fact that because of their father’s obstinacy they would never know Mr. Bingley, and that she was, indeed, sick of hearing of him.
Mr. Bennet folded his newspaper and set it aside. “Had I known that this morning, I should never have called on him.”
“You have called on him?”
“I’m afraid we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”
Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest daughters danced and reveled at the news as Mary gave them a look of disapproval. Jane sat and smiled demurely, while Elizabeth didn’t so much as raise her eyes from her embroidery.
“Are you not interested in meeting our new neighbours, Lizzy?” asked Mr. Bennet. “If for no other reason than to make sport of their follies?”
“I am sure I shall meet them in good time, sir,” she answered as she kept her eyes on her employment.
“Is it not your intention to attend the Assembly? I recall how you once rhapsodized about such gatherings.”
“I see no point in attending an Assembly as I have no intention of dancing.”
Mr. Bennet knew she was not having any of it, but hoped he would still be able to coax her.
“I think it would do you good to attend, Lizzy. I cannot remember the last time you have left the house.”
Elizabeth could remember exactly the last time she had left the house. It was the day, over ten months ago now, that Dr. Graham had informed her that her leg was as good as it would ever be. He did not expect any further improvement of her gait. When he took that hope from her, he took with it her confidence and most of her dreams. And with her dreams went the incentive that had been her life force.
Of course, the doctor had been delighted with her progress, astonished that she had regained the use of her right leg at all; such were the extent of her injuries. It was a testament to her determination, he had said, that she had overcome such odds.
Since she had first sustained her injuries, she had suffered through two operations, the first one shortly after the accident. It had taken almost a year for her leg to heal from that ordeal, and she had been confined to her bed for most of the duration. Her progress had been agonizingly slow, but finally she had gained enough strength in the muscles of her leg to allow her to stand and eventually walk, though awkwardly and with much pain.
A second operation was performed almost two years ago. Dr. Graham had been convinced that another operation to remove some splintered bone fragments would help relieve her discomfort and improve her stride. Again her recuperation had taken many months, but she diligently had attended to all the exercises and endured all the treatments that had been required of her with the hope that she would one day again walk with no impairment.
But all that she had gone through did not fully accomplish its mission. Though her pain had diminished and her awkward manner of walking had improved considerably, her leg had not regained its former strength and would often grow stiff. She also had been left with two disfiguring scars on her leg and a gait that made her feel uncoordinated and graceless.
“I am most happy to stay home with you and read, Papa.”
Mr. Bennet eyed his daughter carefully. “I have never ordered you to do anything, Elizabeth, but perhaps I have been coddling you too much.”
Distracted, the needle with which she had been working struck her forefinger, causing a small droplet of blood to mar her sampler. She looked up and offered him a frown. Surely he will not force me to go!
“I will make you a bargain, Lizzy: attend this one Assembly, and I promise I will not impose on you again to attend another social function for a year.”
“If you recall, sir, I attended an Assembly at your urging once before. How could you ask that of me again?”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes softened. “Lizzy, you cannot spend the rest of your life secluded away in this house because of the thoughtless conduct of one foolish young man.”
“He was more than just a foolish young man to me, Papa. He was my best friend. He was someone I trusted. If he could so easily disregard my feelings, what chance is there that others will show more tolerance?”
She turned her eyes away from her father as she recalled the painful events of that night that still haunted her. After much persuading, her father had convinced her to attend the Assembly at Meryton to celebrate her seventeenth birthday. Her best friend, Jeremy McGregor, who had always shown partiality for her company, was also to attend and had promised to dance with her.
As soon as she had entered the Asse
mbly Room, however, she had witnessed all the unforgiving stares and heard the cruel whispers. She looked around, hoping to seek the comforting presence of her friend. Eyeing him across the room, she breathed a sigh of relief and gave him a smile. But when the evening had almost come to an end and Jeremy still had not asked her to dance, she had gathered up all her courage and self-consciously walked across the room to where he stood. Every pair of eyes turned in her direction. Taking in a deep breath she nervously approached him. “Will you not stand up with me, Jeremy?”
A few snickers from his friends as they stood nearby could be heard, but then the room became deadly silent. Jeremy looked into her eyes for a moment but, embarrassed by his own shameful behaviour, quickly stared down at his feet. “I . . . I have promised the last set to Miss Sarah,” he stated in a meek voice. “I am sorry, Elizabeth.” When he finally found the courage to look up, he witnessed her sad expression and her unshed tears. Elizabeth could see the regret in his eyes, but it did not lessen the sting of his rejection.
“I have no desire to repeat such an unpleasant evening, Papa.”
“But that was over three years ago, Lizzy, before your last operation,” said Jane. “Your leg has improved so much since then.”
Elizabeth gave her sister a scornful fleeting glance, then turned her attention back to her father. “I do not wish to go,” she stated emphatically.
“Lizzy, I would rather you agree than make me insist upon it.”
“I am begging you, Papa, please, do not make me go,” she said as she fought off tears.
They had come to this impasse several times over the past ten months, and each time, Mr. Bennet would acquiesce to his daughter’s will. After all she had endured, he did not wish to add to her distress.
He took in a deep breath, knowing that he was about to do that very thing. “You leave me no choice, Elizabeth. You will attend the Assembly. Am I understood?”
The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love Page 3
